


Cold Hands Cold Hearts

by evilsmile171



Category: game of thrones
Genre: Battle of Winterfell, F/M, Game of thrones s8 spoilers, I should write for got, Long Night, Some Sansa/Tyrion but not really, Zombies, crypt scene was lame, episode 3 spoilers, this is better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 19:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18644698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilsmile171/pseuds/evilsmile171
Summary: That was when the defeated dead started to jerk and move again. She backed up as far as she could and almost stumbled when she hit something hard. A loud crash of stone shattering filled her with dread.With ice running down her back, a hand gripped her shoulder hard enough to break bone. She whipped around, ready to strike but instead felt a new kind of horror drain her.Sansa's knife fell to the ground and she felt so dizzy the room started to sway. She would have fell to the ground if it wasn't for the figure holding her up.





	Cold Hands Cold Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> Before watching s8 episode 3, I had the crypt scene going a whole different way in my head. And when it happened, i loved the Sansa/Tyrion moment (bc umm they’re technically still married), but honestly the rest of the scene can be thrown out. I wrote this in like thirty min and Idc if theres mistakes.  
> THIS IS HOW THE SCENE SHOULD’VE GONE!!!

The growls of the dead filtered through the screams of the women and children, trapped in Winterfell's crypt. 

Sansa and Tyrion were huddled behind her father's tomb. She knew this might be it. As she shared her thoughts with the only man who'd ever respected her in her gaze, he pressed his lips to her hand. She held the dagger up and set her face in a determined grimace. 

They both whipped around the corner, Tyrion yelling obscenities and she yelling Winterfell! The dead seemed to pause at the sight of a half-man and a girl rushing forward to meet their deaths. 

She slashed one wight across the face, watched as it fell and then moved on to the next one. Tyrion's own short knife wasn't doing much good as it wasn't valyarian steel. She rushed to his side, hacking at throats that towered over him. They met, back to back, slashing at anything that lunged at them. Once, Sansa turned and hacked at a wight over Tyrion's head, saving him from being disemboweled. 

When they made a considerable dent in the wights dragging themselves out of her family's tombs, a cheer went up around them. Sansa felt her heart hammering in her chest but the adrenaline was keeping her moving, keeping her alive. Small wonder Arya preferred this to sewing. 

As the last wight went down to one knee at Tyrion's slash, Sansa finished it off with a furious thrust into it's throat. Tyrion looked on her with pride and a wide smile. She felt herself return the smile slightly. 

That was when the defeated dead started to jerk and move again. She backed up as far as she could and almost stumbled when she hit something hard. A loud crash of stone shattering filled her with dread. 

With ice running down her back, a hand gripped her shoulder hard enough to break bone. She whipped around, ready to strike but instead felt a new kind of horror drain her. 

Sansa's knife fell to the ground and she felt so dizzy the room started to sway. She would have fell to the ground if it wasn't for the figure holding her up.

The wight in front of her had no head but it was dressed in her father's best furs. Its hands dug deep wounds into her shoulder and she knew them. These hands soothed her terrors in the night, held hers as she cried, rubbed her back when she was ill...

"F-father...." she sobbed, hands wrenching around her neck. 

They had all come back... to kill her. For her crimes against the north.

Another wight grabbed at her hair and this one wasn't hard to recognize with her fiery red hair, slit throat and fine clothing but her face was a ruined decayed mess, her jaw half off. Then another came out of the darkness, a wolf's rotting head sewed onto its torso, with hard hands that ripped the bone of her shoulder right out of its socket and pummeling a rib out place. And yet another one came at her with familiar red Tully hair, smaller than the rest but no less horrifying to behold. The last one lunged at them all and took Sansa to the floor, her family crashing on top of her in a heap. 

She gasped softly as she felt nails and teeth gouge out her skin of her arms, her chest, her hair, her face. She could barely see Tyrion sparring with two charred armored wights and one armored in blue winter roses. 

Sansa's stomach plunged as she thought that if this was it for her.... at least she got to be with her family again. 

Wight Ned Stark's hands started to twitch and soon he rolled to the side of her, his hands finally flying off her neck. She was still too frozen to do much more than whimper as breath came slamming back into her body. Her mother and brothers were still hacking at her when she saw Varys and Messandei slashing at them furiously. 

Some stupid part of her wanted to plead for them to stop. 

She deserved their rage. She deserved their violence. She as good as killed her father when she told Cersei his plans, Robb and her Mother were just trying to win the wars to get her home and it was her husband who had murdered her tiny brother Rickon. She wanted so badly to open her arms and welcome her death if it meant being with her family again. 

Instead she watched as Varys hacked her father and mother to pieces and Messandei slashed and stabbed both Robb from the wolf and Rickon's neck apart. She couldn't think, she couldn't move. Every part of her was numb to the world and she gazed on the scene of Tyrion rolling desperately away from the armored wights only to be slashed at by the third woman wight. Varys and Messandei went to help him and she knew a part of her should get up and help. 

Instead she gathered her father's headless body in her arms and sobbed so hard it was almost a scream. She gathered her mother's remains into her chest and dragged poor, poor Robb and Rickon's bodies closer. She sat there amongst the chaos and the violence, grieving for the loss of people who had been gone for so long. 

She cried out their names in a almost a prayer, over and over. Father, Mother, Rickon, Robb. Father Mother, Rickon, Robb. Father, Mother, Rickon, Robb. Father Mother Rickon Robb . 

She cried for so long she didn't notice hands that were digging at her arms. Sansa tried to fight them away, she was with her family finally, she wouldn't be torn away from them again. Never again would she let them go.

Finally a strong arm yanked her away from the dead and she flailed; kicking and screaming at the figure. No! She wanted to scream in their face she had her family back, don't make her leave! 

Then someone was shaking her, yelling her name and she realized Tyrion was holding her, tears streaming down his face. She saw she had been kicking at Messandei and Varys' concerned face came into view. 

The dead were fallen. All around her the wights weren't moving and the battle was over. 

She sobbed into Tyrion's chest while he rubbed her back. 

For a moment they were alive... for a moment... she almost had them back. It had driven her mad with grief. 

"Sansa... it's alright. They're gone." The Lannister murmured, hands running down her hair. 

She just sobbed harder. They were gone... gone.


End file.
